I turned 27 on Saturday. Twenty-six was a pretty great year, so I was reluctant to let go of it, but all of my friends turned 27 like big girls, so I suppose it was inevitable for me.
First, I got my toes did, courtesy of my dear friends Heather and Emily. My favorite part of the pedicure experience was the massage chair that massaged me right up the butt crack. That lasted about two seconds before I turned it off. Can you tell which foot is mine? Hint: It's the one with the E.T. finger-like second toe.
Next, I got my hair did, courtesy of my amazing friend Lez. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: I want something cute, but that looks like I could've done it myself if I had any skillz.
Me: Also, I don't want it to look like I'm going to a wedding.
Me: Also, I brought baby's breath to pin in my hair.
Lez: Blink blink.
Me: I'm just kidding. If I ever come to you and say, 'I have an occasion that definitely calls for baby's breath in my hair', please stop me.
Lez will probably kill me for making her sound like a monosyllabic non-conversationalist, when really she has mad hair skillz. And no offense to anyone who has worn baby's breath in their hair.
And now, please to enjoy some glamour shots of my girl's night out to P.F. Changs.
Take notes. Learn to tell the difference.